Chapter 2 002
Chloe
“He has to go. Today.”
Amanda stood in the middle of the lobby, her hands on her hips, looking like a warrior queen in leggings and a fluffy sweater. I’d just met her downstairs, and she was already in full battle mode.
“Mandy, take a breath,” I said, but my own stomach was a knot of nerves. “Let’s just talk to Mr. Henderson first. Get the facts.”
“The fact is, I have a confirmed lease for 3B, and a strange man is in it,” she said, her voice echoing off the marble floor. “That’s not a fact, that’s an invasion. For all we know, he’s squaring. Or worse.”
The ‘or worse’ hung between us. We’d texted about it all night, the story getting wilder with each message. By midnight, Amanda had the man pegged as an international art thief who used apartments as temporary hideouts.
The main entrance door swung open, and Mr. Henderson shuffled in, looking flustered. He was a kind man in his sixties who always smelled like peppermints and newsprint.
“Amanda, Chloe, good morning,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “I got your messages. I am so, so sorry about this mess. There’s been a… a clerical error.”
“A clerical error?” Amanda repeated, her tone sharp. “Someone gave my apartment away.”
“Not gave away,” Mr. Henderson corrected gently, wringing his hands. “Mis-assigned. The new tenant, Mr. Thorne, was supposed to be in the penthouse suite on five. It was vacant for renovation, so he agreed to take 3B temporarily until it’s finished. But my new assistant, she mixed up the files. She thought 3B was still vacant and processed your application for it without checking the hold.” He looked truly miserable. “The fault is entirely ours.”
Amanda’s fierce posture softened a fraction. “Okay. So, it’s a mistake. A huge, annoying mistake. But if he’s supposed to be in the penthouse, then he can move up there, right? Today? And I can move into 3B?”
Mr. Henderson’s face puckered. “Well, that’s the other issue. The penthouse won’t be ready for another ten days. The flooring is being replaced.”
“Ten days!” Amanda cried.
I stepped in, placing a hand on her arm. “Mr. Henderson, who is this man? This Mr. Thorne? I… I saw him last night.” I felt silly saying it, but the memory of that deep, sniffing sound made my voice waver. “His door was open. I didn’t see his face, but it was… unsettling.”
Mr. Henderson’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Oh, dear. I hope he wasn’t bothering you. He’s a very respectable gentleman. A CEO from London, here on a long-term business acquisition. He provided excellent references. Very private, very quiet.”
“A CEO?” Amanda whispered to me, one eyebrow arched. “Since when do CEOs move their own boxes in the middle of the week?”
“Maybe he’s frugal,” I whispered back, but it didn’t sit right.
“The important thing,” Mr. Henderson said, clapping his hands together softly, “is to sort this out. I’ve spoken to Mr. Thorne this morning. He’s aware of the mix-up. He’s willing to speak with us. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”
“What kind of arrangement?” I asked, a fresh wave of unease washing over me. The thought of standing in front of that open door again made my palms sweat.
“I think it’s best we discuss it all together,” Mr. Henderson said, already turning toward the elevator. “He’s expecting us.”
Amanda and I exchanged a long look. This was it. We were going to confront the mystery man. My heart started a rapid thump against my ribs. Amanda linked her arm with mine, giving it a squeeze.
“Stay behind me,” she joked, but her smile was tight.
The elevator ride to the third floor was silent and slow. The cheerful music from the speakers felt like a cruel joke. When the doors slid open, the hallway looked ordinary. Sunlight from the window at the end spilled across the carpet. But the door to 3B was now firmly shut.
The three of us stood in front of it like a hesitant delegation. Mr. Henderson gave us a weak smile and rang the doorbell.
The seconds stretched. I could hear the faint hum of the fridge in my own apartment behind me. Then, a soft click of a lock turning.
The door opened inward.
And there he was.
My brain short-circuited. All my fears, all the stories of panther-like movements and nighttime predators, evaporated into pure, stunned shock.
He wasn’t just tall. He was towering, having to duck his head slightly under the doorframe. His hair was dark and wet, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower, droplets clinging to the ends. He had a strong, clean-shaven jaw and eyes the color of a stormy sky—a deep, intense grey that seemed to take in all three of us in a single, sweeping glance. He wore a simple black henley shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide the powerful build underneath, and a pair of dark jeans.
He wasn’t creepy. He was… devastating. Like a statue of a Greek god someone had brought to life and dressed in modern clothes.
I heard a tiny, choked sound next to me. Amanda’s grip on my arm had gone bone-tight. She was staring, her mouth slightly open.
“Mr. Thorne,” Mr. Henderson began, his voice overly cheerful. “Thank you for seeing us. These are the young ladies I mentioned, Amanda and Chloe. Again, my deepest apologies for the inconvenience.”
Mr. Thorne’s gaze moved from the manager to Amanda, and then, finally, to me.
When his eyes met mine, everything else faded—the hallway, Mr. Henderson’s nervous chatter, Amanda beside me. It was like a physical jolt, a surge of something hot and cold at once. His stare wasn’t threatening. It was profound, searching, as if he was looking for something he’d lost a long time ago. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t look away.
“Hello,” he said. His voice was the thing I’d feared in the dark last night—deep, resonant, with a smooth, British accent that wrapped around the word and made it sound like a secret. But up close, it didn’t sound menacing. It sounded like velvet.
He was looking right at me when he said it.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but no sound came out.
Amanda recovered first. She gave my arm a sharp, painful nudge with her elbow, breaking the spell.
“Right! Hi!” she said, her voice an octave too high. She cleared her throat. “So, there’s been this big mix-up. This is actually my apartment. My unit. You’re in it.”
Mr. Thorne’s gaze reluctantly left my face and shifted to Amanda. “So I’ve been informed,” he said, his tone neutral, polite. “A regrettable error.”
“Yes, very regrettable,” Amanda barreled on, now all business. “And since you’re supposed to be upstairs, we were hoping we could arrange an immediate transfer. Today.”
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. It didn’t reach his stormy eyes. “The penthouse is uninhabitable currently. As Mr. Henderson has told me. It appears we are in a situation.”
“Well, we need to unsituation it,” Amanda insisted.
Mr. Thorne was quiet for a moment, his eyes drifting back to me. I felt pinned under that look, examined. He was so still. Most people fidget, or blink, or shift their weight. He did none of those things. He just stood there, a monument of calm, while my own heart was trying to escape my chest.
“I propose a solution,” he said finally, his words measured. “The error was not mine, but I am inconvenienced by it as well. I require a residence. I have already moved my belongings. A second move within a week is… undesirable.”
He paused, letting the word hang there. Mr. Henderson nodded vigorously.
“Therefore,” Mr. Thorne continued, his eyes locking with mine again, “I will remain in this unit until the penthouse is ready. In exchange for the… disruption… I will cover the full cost of a luxury hotel suite for Miss…?” He glanced at Amanda.
“Amanda,” she supplied, her eyes narrowing, already calculating.
“For Miss Amanda, for the duration. And I will pay a significant penalty fee to the management for the oversight.” He finally looked at Mr. Henderson. “Would that be acceptable?”
Mr. Henderson looked like he’d just been handed a winning lottery ticket. “Oh, Mr. Thorne, that is more than generous! Amanda, a suite at the The Laurent! That’s a five-star!”
Amanda’s resolve was visibly crumbling under the weight of a free stay at the fanciest hotel in the city. She looked at me, conflict all over her face.
But I wasn’t thinking about hotels. I was stuck on one thing he’d said. ‘I have already moved my belongings.’
He moved in last night. Alone. With those big, heavy boxes. And now he stood here, not a hair out of place except for being damp, looking like he owned the world. No strain, no fatigue. Just that unsettling, potent stillness.
His proposal was more than fair. It was incredibly generous. So why did it feel like a trap?
“Chloe?” Amanda whispered, tugging my sleeve. “What do you think?”
I looked from Amanda’s hopeful face to Mr. Henderson’s relieved one, and finally back to Mr. Thorne. He was waiting for my response, his intense gaze holding a question I didn’t understand.
“It’s… a very kind offer,” I managed to say, my voice strangely thin.
“It is merely practical,” he corrected softly, but his eyes didn’t leave mine.
“Okay,” Amanda said, deciding for both of us. “Okay, deal. I’ll take the hotel suite. You get to stay. For ten days.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Thorne said, but he was still looking at me.
“Right! Well, that’s settled!” Mr. Henderson beamed. “We’ll let you get back to your day, Mr. Thorne. Amanda, come with me to the office, we’ll get everything sorted.”
Mr. Henderson began shepherding Amanda back toward the elevator. She shot me a wide-eyed ‘oh my god’ look over her shoulder before disappearing around the corner.
Suddenly, I was alone in the hallway with him.
The space felt a hundred times smaller. The air felt thicker. I took a step back, my hand reaching behind me for my own doorknob.
“Chloe,” he said. My name in his accent, in that deep voice, sounded like a completely different word. A spell.
“Yes?”
“It was you last night,” he stated, his head tilting just a fraction. It wasn’t a question. “Behind your door.”